Snowstorm

If you ever become
the estranged middle aged son
of still living old people
with middle aged siblings and
a middle aged heart, lungs, and back,
you will one day reach a point
when the shovel
and the snow
will defeat you
right in the middle of a snowstorm.

You will have long abandoned
the over the shoulder toss in favor of
the tip and dump of each shovelful
onto a growing pile of packed trouble
and you’ll have this moment of despair
when you realize there is no place left
to put the next load.  You will
have to figure that out soon
but for that moment you’ll be stopped
cold. 

Your back will feel broken.  Your
chest will be caving and exploding.
You are going to cough
every time you move.

You are going to have a moment
of thinking about how far you are
from your still living old parents
and your middle aged siblings
who are likely standing helpless
in the same storm. 

You are going to look up and see
families on the street
digging more vigorously
than you are, see their children laughing,
see their cars beginning to move.

You are going to think of
your aged parents and
your unhealthy siblings
in the same storm, struggling
to dig out but doing it together,

and you are going to be
ashamed.